Magic Mike
by AGoldenCharm
Summary: They didn't think their paths would cross again- and certainly not under THESE circumstances...


**A/N: Okay so quick note! This story was inspired by two things: The new movie Magic Mike that comes out soon (no affiliation, obviously), and a recent video that surfaced (if you know what I mean).**

**This might be the most ridiculous thing I've ever written but it also sort of took a more serious turn. Anyway, it was fun to write! Hope you all enjoy x**

* * *

Mike Chang is all about compromise. He's not sure who he needs to convince anymore, mostly because he hasn't talked to his parents in years since they moved back to China after he got his undergraduate degree at Berkeley- they had basically hopped on a plane as soon as the ceremony was over seeing as how they had been anxious to go back to their hometown for years now- and ever since, Mike has been, for the most part, fending for himself. Learning how to provide for himself.

Money, he's concluded, sucks. Money is the spawn of the devil, straight from the pits of hell and even though he and every other person on this planet needs it to get through the day, money just... _sucks_.

Unfortunately, every day is a constant reminder just how much money really does suck, and even though he wants to keep his eye on the prize- remembering that in less than a year's time, he'll be attending med school and this will all just be a faint memory- Mike knows that it's not that easy. He knows that these nights will be forever imprinted in his memory.

After getting accepted to University of Washington's medical school, Mike had opted to defer for a year, packed his bags in California and planned to visit some of his friends out East- Matt and Sam, his old high school buddies that had both moved out to Boston for college (Matt attended Boston College in hopes of eventually going to PT school and Sam got into Tufts on a football scholarship. The two of them finally met after realizing how close their schools were and how they were clearly destined to meet- after all, they had both been New Directions alumni). Mike had been looking forward to getting to see his friends again and catching up, hoping to spend his gap year working part time and relaxing- seeing as how he rarely had the chance to during undergrad and most likely wouldn't while attending med school, either. Little did he know that he would be getting himself into a _lot _more than just a friendly visit._  
_

Today is his twenty-fifth show (he's been keeping count) and it's the first time since starting here at the Ruby Rouge that he hasn't felt as though his guts are turning inside out. As he accepts the bottle that Sam is nudging his way, Mike glances at the clock on the far side of the room. Five more minutes til show time. He pours out a dollop of oil from the bottle and starts to... spread.

"Feel like going out for drinks after this?" Matt pipes up from where he's checking the seams of his tear-away shirt.

"You know me," Sam grins, "I'm always down."

"Same," Mike nods brusquely, snapping the lid of the bottle back on and cringing a little at the greasiness of the oil. It's something, like much of the rest of this gig, that he'll probably never get used to.

Sam gets up, jumping up and down a little on the balls of his feet, his toothy white grin flashing across his face, "Ready?"

Mike makes a face, "When have I ever _really_ been ready for this, Sam?"

"Oh relax," he waves dismissively, "You say that now, but in no time at all, this will be like second nature to you."

Mike stares at his friend in horror, "What the hell? Second nature? So you're saying that a few years from now when I'm working with a patient I'll just spontaneously-"

"Well, not like that exactly," Sam says hastily as Matt cracks up at his side.

"This is temporary," Mike says firmly, "I'll be outta here in a couple of months and no one will be the wiser."

"And when you say no one you're referring to your future residents and attendings over in Washington?" Matt chuckles.

"Exactly."

"It's really a shame you're so good at this," Matt says pointedly, folding his arms across his chest, "I can see you getting signed on permanently."

"Seriously," Sam nods fervently in agreement, "_Two _nights on the job and you already become the most requested performer on the program."

Mike smiles weakly, "I'm not sure if I should be proud of that."

"Sure you should!" Matt says jovially, "Where'd you get those moves, anyway?"

"I've always danced. You know that," he shrugs it off.

"Not this kind of dancing."

Mike says nothing.

"I can't believe you're our big finale act now," Matt shakes his head in bewilderment, "Sam and I have been here for over a year already and we haven't gotten bumped up in the program at all."

"I- I don't know what to tell you guys."

"Screw med school, man! You keep at this for another few weeks and you'll start getting personal calls..."

"Guys..."

"You'll make enough money for a lifetime, let alone your med school student loans."

"_Guys_..."

The truth is, when he gets up on that stage and the lights are on him and the crowd is shrieking with delight and he feels like he doesn't really belong up there, he tosses his good judgment aside and just lets his body do the performing. After all, it's his _body_ that earns him enough money to feed a large family every night.

The now familiar sound of the bell that rings before every show trills, piercing the air around them and the sound of excited cheering and shrieking follows. With a deep, weary sigh, Mike squares his shoulders and adjusts the suspenders across his torso.

Show time.

* * *

The best part about never having been to a strip club before is that she can safely say that she has _no_ idea how any of this- the bill-stuffing, lap-dance-buying, girly-shrieking- works and she wouldn't be lying at all.

The worst part about it is that she feels a little like a kindergartner thrown into a college lecture hall- as though she's way too young to be here and doesn't belong in any right and basically should be bolting out the doors for fear of being ridiculed.

But Tina Cohen-Chang knows better than to ruin her friend's bachelorette party. In fact, she's promised herself- _and_ Rachel Berry- that she would do her absolute best to make this the best night of Rachel's non-married life.

It's something she has to keep reminding herself as she sits down at a table at the end of the T-shaped stage with Rachel, Mercedes, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn and a barely-clothed waiter with pecs the size of Mount Rushmore arrives to take their drink orders.

Santana orders two rounds of tequila right off the bat and Tina knows- just _knows_- that she won't be returning home sober tonight. Dammit.

"I can't believe we're here," Tina mumbles in disbelief, taking in the overflowing crowd, the neon lights, and the swanky furniture.

"Oh come on Tina," Santana says breezily, "Live a little. I don't even play for this team and I'm still here to enjoy the show."

"Yeah," Brittany chimes in, "Just because we're Lebanese doesn't mean we can't watch guys dance."

"Lesbians," Santana corrects with an eye roll, but amends it by covering Brittany's hand gently with her own, "Just take advantage of this, okay? For your viewing pleasure."

As she leans back in her chair, listening to her friends chat animatedly with excitement, Tina glances at the currently empty stage with trepidation. She's given her fair share of patronizing lectures on the demoralization of a woman's sense of value if she takes on the stage, sashaying her way toward a sizable income for the night. And although she and Quinn give guest lectures at the local community college about the negative social impacts of the objectification of women that usually have to do with prostitution, _this_ certainly pushes boundaries that shouldn't be pushed.

Which means the only reason why she's sitting in the audience right now with her five best friends is because it's her duty as a future bridesmaid to make sure that Rachel has a wild night she's sure to remember... or not.

When the practically naked waiter comes back, he doles out the tequila shots with a cheeky grin and assures them that he'll be back in a flash to take their next order and Quinn, the maid of honor, tells him to put it on her tab. The six of them giggle as they raise their shot glasses.

"To Rachel!" Quinn says excitedly, "And to your bright future with Jesse! But for now, to a crazy night- and to hoping Rachel is too wasted to remember anything tomorrow morning."

"Cheers!" Everyone squeals and gulps down their shots. Santana immediately insists on taking the second.

"We've gotta be good and tipsy for the show," Santana says firmly, raising her second shot glass, "We's about to gets fucked uppppp!"

Tina hoots and hollers with the rest of the girls and they all take their second shot- she can already feel the warmth rising in her cheeks (she's always been somewhat of a lightweight in comparison to her friends) as she sets down her glass and Santana snaps her fingers for the waiter to come back. She immediately orders another round of shots.

"For later," Santana promises at the other girls' protests.

A bell rings shrilly and as if on cue, all the other girls in the venue raise their arms up and cheer at the top of their lungs and the music gets pumped up to an impossibly loud volume and Tina feels like her ears are buzzing but she cheers right alongside everyone else as the spotlight lands on center stage.

A deep rumbling voice comes over the PA, "ALL OUR SEXY LADIES TONIGHT CAN I HEAR YOU SCREAM?"

The crowd complies, each woman yelling at the top of her lungs and the whole venue practically quaking with the sound.

"We should all get lap dances!" Quinn claps her hands together excitedly as she shouts over the din of the crowd.

"No thanks," Tina can already feel herself blushing.

"We all have to!" Quinn prompts, as Mercedes and Rachel nod enthusiastically beside her.

"What about Santana and Brittany?" Tina protests.

"I don't need some nasty guy grinding all up in my grill," Santana snorts, "I'll watch from a distance, please."

"Me too," Brittany agrees.

"PLEASE WELCOME TO THE STAGE- _MATT MAXIMUS__!_"

_Matt Maximus?_ Tina wants to scoff at how cheesy and lame that sounds but she's starting to think that maybe the alcohol is getting the better of her because all she wants to do is bounce in her seat to the beat of the music and pump her fist in the air in anticipation for "Matt Maximus".

A very electronic, dubstep-like song comes on and the curtains get ripped aside as the first man appears. He's ripped and a little stocky with short black hair and dark skin that practically glows under the spotlight and he's dressed in the most bizarre fireman outfit Tina has ever seen in her entire life. It's a pair of fluorescent yellow pants with red suspenders that stretch over his torso covered by a heavy-looking fireman jacket that's just barely open across his chest, a fireman's hat that he's gripping to his chest, and Tina's pretty damn certain his body is... _glistening_. And suddenly, his face comes into view and they all gasp at almost exactly the same moment.

"Oh my god," Quinn's jaw drops immediately, "Is that-"

"-_No_."

"It _can't_ be."

"_Matt Rutherford?"_ All six of them- minus Brittany, who looks a little lost- chorus in unison, their voices faltering in disbelief.

"No. Way," Santana breathes, staring up at "Matt Maximus" with her mouth gaping open.

"Who's that?" Brittany blinks, not understanding.

"_Remember_?" Santana yelps, "High school? Football player? Glee club? He ditched after our sophomore year! Britt, he was the _only_ black guy in New Directions."

"We had a black guy in New Directions? Wait- was it Will Smith?"

"Wha- _no!"_

As they all stare in awe while Matt- with lack of a better description- thrusts his way across the stage, Tina can't help but feel a little like she's dreaming. _Matt Rutherford_. God, none of them had heard from him in _years_.

"I need another shot," Tina mutters and Santana turns away from staring at Matt and cheers immediately in response.

They each take their third shot and Tina shudders- she just knows it'll hit her in no time.

The crowd goes totally crazy as Matt starts to shake his hips and dance- well, _erotically- _to the music and shoot coy smirks to girls all across the audience. He holds out his arms to prompt more cheering and then rips his jacket away, tossing it aside and revealing an incredibly toned body highlighted by his tight suspenders. Tons of girls hold out wads of bills and he grins, tossing in one extra hip thrust before stepping off the stage to give... individual lap dances.

"NOW, PLEASE WELCOME- _WHITE CHOCOLATE!"_

"White Chocolate" is perhaps even cheesier than "Matt Maximus" but Tina can definitely feel the alcohol kicking in at this point and she's really more excited to see the next guy than anything else so she jumps up to her feet with everyone else as the curtains part once again.

Wait. "White Chocolate" sounds familiar...

"Oh my god."

"_Sam_!" They all scream together, not believing their eyes as Sam Evans pushes past the curtains and flaunts his set of six pack abs that gets more or less highlighted by his firefighter getup after he tears away his jacket as well when he appears on stage, dancing his way to the center with the intermittent body roll that gets all the girls screaming with delight.

"_Whooo!_" Mercedes cat-calls, waving her ones in the air.

"Mercedes, what are you _doing_?" Quinn hisses, "That's _Sam_ up there."

Sam and Mercedes had broken up after her senior year and they went their separate ways. They had ended things on good terms but Tina knows she missed him sometimes.

"Whatevs," Mercedes says breezily, "I'll enjoy it while I can."

"'Cedes!" Santana shouts, "Buy yourself a lap dance!"

Mercedes glares, "Are you for _real_? I can't buy a lap dance from Sam!"

"What are they doing up there?" Tina says in awe, "When did the two of them become strippers?"

"I know, I can't believe it!" Quinn shakes her head.

"Actually, Sam _did_ strip back in high school before we brought him back to McKinley," Rachel points out, her eyes still very much fixed upon Sam as he dances.

"This is _too_ good," Santana says with relish, "Look at our old boys up there stripping for cash!"

"Santana," Tina mumbles weakly, not wanting to join her as she cackles with delight.

Because as amusing as it may be to the rest of the girls that Matt and Sam are up there in _stripper fireman_ outfits, Tina feels an intense degree of secondhand embarrassment. To be fair, she has no idea _why_ they've chosen to do this for a living- so in reality, she should hold off all judgment til she understands the situation better.

"HEY TROUTY MOUTH!" Santana suddenly crows, and Tina feels like she's melting into a pool of embarrassment as Sam's head whips in their direction and his eyes grow to three times their original size. Some of the girls around them look at them as though they've lost their minds but Santana just simpers, snapping her fingers at a passing waiter for another drink.

The announcer introduces yet _another_ performer ("Jack Hammer", Tina practically keels over with laughter at the name) and she cheers absently as the new guy strips off his jacket as well, doing a rather impressive flip before heading off stage to give out his share of lap dances as well.

"AND NOW," the announcer calls out over the system, "THE ONE YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! THE ONE, THE ONLY-"

The crowd goes _insane_. Tina can feel the ground and walls shaking all around them and she wonders what, exactly, they've been waiting for-

"_MAAAAGIC MIIIIIIKE!"_

At first, she thinks nothing of it. At first, she cheers right alongside the rest of the women in the crowd. But suddenly, her mind wanders.

_No._

_There's no way._

_No way in hell._

Tina can feel her fists clenching at her side because _no_ she will _not_ believe that tiny little gnawing thought at the back of her head. There are thousands of Mikes out there and just because Matt and Sam are up there doesn't mean...

"Holy. Fuck."

Santana says it better than Tina ever could as the curtains part once more and a six foot tall man with pitch-black hair swept upward and slightly to the side, with a familiarly defined jawline and cloudy dark eyes that Tina could probably draw from memory- not to mention his lean body frame and perfectly defined abs- slides down the pole that's up behind the curtains.

"No fucking way."

This time, it's Tina who breathes those words with her eyes locked on stage and her jaw practically slamming against the floor.

Because up on that stage, in all his firefighter-outfit, well-oiled, hip-thrusting glory, is Mike Chang.

* * *

Even though this job won't last much longer and he can't wait until he can resign and head off to Washington, Mike kinda _enjoys_ the applause. The cheering. The overexcited women. It's like dancing for an auditorium filled with people... except... not really.

At any rate, he's learned to grin and bear it as he slides down the pole (he's the only one that uses it since he's the final dancer and there has to be some sort of grandiose aspect to his entrance) to take the stage and he's even managed to learn from Matt and Sam how to send the girls smoldering stares to hype them up some more.

One thing he limits himself to is lap dances. Sam and Matt do them all the time to pull in the extra cash but Mike can't quite bring himself to do it. There's something super uncomfortable about shoving your ass in some girl's face and grinding up against her when you have no idea who the hell she is. So he stays on stage and dances in an alarmingly small amount of clothing and occasionally approaches the edges of the stage, where girls _still_ hand him money for a quick wink or flashed smile.

As Mike continues to dance, sticking in a flip or two in his routine to keep things interesting, he spots Sam leaving a girl's lap and coming back toward the stage- which he rarely ever does.

"Yo," Sam hisses, trying to keep smiling and dancing as he edges closer to Mike, "Two o' clock."

Mike turns his head to twelve, one, two o' clock and doesn't know what he's looking for until his eyes land upon a small cluster of girls who look _way_ too familiar for comfort.

"_SHIT_," Mike yelps, grateful the pounding music could cover his outburst because _holy shit_.

The good thing about doing this gig out in Boston is because he knows _no one_ in Boston. He's not willing to create a reputation for himself as a _stripper_, for god's sake, so it makes sense to him that no one here in Boston knows his name. He chills with Sam and Matt most of the time, preps for med school by studying as much he can, and then at night... _this_. So it has to be some sort of sick, twisted joke that the six girls zeroing in on him as he dances up on stage are six of the last faces he'd ever want to see.

* * *

Just a few months ago, Tina received a notice from the NYU Dean of Arts & Science that she would be one of the recipients of the Founders' Day Award, along with the College of Arts & Science departmental honors. She knew she did well over her four years at NYU, but she had never won such high academic honors before, and she literally thought they had mailed the notice out to the wrong person. She had promptly freaked out when discovering that it was indeed addressed to her, and she had called her parents right away to tell them. She was still in shock by the time that her roommate, Allie, had taken her out for drinks to celebrate. She had decided, at that point, that it was the most shocked she had ever been in her twenty-two years.

But this. This blew the Founders' Day Award right out the water.

Because nothing- _nothing_- could ever be more shocking than Mike Chang- her _former high school boyfriend_, the slightly nerdy, adorably awkward Mike Chang- wearing a firefighter stripper outfit and grinding up on stage in front of a crowd of overexcited women and being "the one they had all been waiting for", to boot.

She and Mike had parted ways when he had left Ohio for California and she had left for New York, and they had agreed that breaking up would be for the best. They both had huge goals to fulfill, parents to please, and they both knew that doing well in school would have little room for hours of Skype calling and hundreds of dollars wasted on plane tickets. It had been heartbreaking and miserable, but they both grew to accept it. High school was just... _high school_ and there were places to be seen, people to meet, and things to achieve for the both of them. Tina was planning on applying to law school, and she knew Mike wanted to go to med school- although now she's not so sure. They hadn't talked in a couple of years and now... now he's doing _this_.

As the other girls glance sideways at her and look as though they're trying depressingly hard not to enter full-on gossip mode, Tina stares up at her ex-boyfriend, jaw slack and eyes widened.

Maybe the reason why Santana and Rachel and everyone else is looking as though they had just seen an alien abduction when Mike took the stage while only shrieking with amusement with Sam and Matt came out is because no one on this _planet_ would ever believe that Mike Chang would decide to strip for a living. After dating him for nearly three years, Tina could safely categorize him as quiet, reserved, and conservative. So why, exactly, is he... _gyrating_ up on stage as dozens of women cheer him on?

He crosses paths with Sam and she watches as Sam whispers something in Mike's ear and Mike turns his head about forty-five degrees and is suddenly looking _right at them_ and Tina feels like she's about to pass out when he locks his gaze on her. _What the hell is she supposed to do now?_

Mike's eyes widen so quickly Tina's afraid they'll pop out of his own skull and he falters a little in his dancing but it looks like he abruptly remembers that he's still dancing for a huge audience because he goes back to sultrily tugging at his suspenders before performing another half-flip thing should not be suggestive in any way but somehow still is. He grabs back onto the pole and starts to climb it, his bulging arms flexing, which the girls in the crowd seem to be unable to get enough of. Tina wonders if it's weird to feel protective. It's not like he's her boyfriend anymore.

But she has no time to think any longer about it because Mike has successfully clambered to the top of the pole and is now thrusting against it with his hips swaying occasionally and his body rolls becoming more and more sexual, his tongue sticking out and traveling across his lips, tantalizingly slow.

The worst part is, no matter how shocked she's getting tonight, there is no denying that he is frighteningly _good_ at what he does up there. She feels her eyebrows traveling upward toward her hairline in total awe as he swings around the pole once, her eyes unable to leave his oiled abs and rocking hips. Because even though she wants to stare up in horror as her ex _strips_ for an audience, she can't quite push aside all the less than chaste thoughts invading her head.

"Oh my god Tina," Quinn shouts over the noise, "Oh my _god!"_

"I KNOW!" Tina babbles, unable to tear her eyes away from him as he descends down the pole and hops back onto the stage. It gets worse when he reaches down, grabs onto the legs of his pants, and rips them aside, revealing a skin-tight, spandex-like pair of _gold_ short shorts that really don't do a very good job of covering as much as they should.

Tina feels like her head has exploded.

* * *

Once Mike finally catches Tina's eye, he knows he's done for. Quinn, he could have dealt with. Brittany, he could have dealt with. Hell, even Santana and her endless stream of snarky comments and sarcastic side comments would have been better. But Tina... Tina he can't _possibly _explain all this to.

When they finish their final act- the one where all the dancers get on stage together again and perform a routine to _Sexy Chick_- Mike leaves the stage first after bowing sheepishly to the sound of raucous applause. His cheeks are still flaming red- he can feel them burning mercilessly as he walks backstage. If he rushes backstage and gets changed- or at least gets his sweats on over his... performance clothes- within fifteen minutes, maybe he can catch her before she leaves. Usually when the show ends, the ladies clear out pretty quickly- typically out to the nightclub down the street for an extended night of partying.

As Mike hastily throws on his jeans over the sorry excuse for a pair of shorts that they make him wear and a hoodie over his bare torso (save the suspenders, of course), before slipping into his sneakers.

"Mike?"

Sam and Matt are facing him, still in their costumes, with their arms across their chests and their eyes flashing with alarm.

"Dude," Sam mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, "Can you believe it?"

Mike stops for a second, halfway through picking up his backpack from under the table where he had left it pre-performance, "Out of all male strip clubs in the world," he says hoarsely.

"You gonna go talk to her?" Matt asks sharply- and even with his ambiguous use of a pronoun, Mike knows that _Matt_ knows who he's rushing to go find.

"Yeah," Mike says shortly, feeling a little nauseated, "Yeah, I feel like I kinda have to."

The half-sympathetic, half-anxious looks Matt and Sam are giving him doesn't help the sick, twisty feeling in his gut as he bids them a hasty farewell before booking it out the exit.

To be honest, he doesn't even know what he's going to say to her, but he _does_ know that it's been over three years since they've exchanged a wayward e-mail or two.

* * *

Santana is drunk. Brittany is probably drunker. Rachel, of course, is the drunkest and Mercedes and Quinn and Tina are doing their best to keep Rachel from falling out of her chair as they finish their round of cocktails before heading over to the nightclub that Quinn had recommended for the remainder of the night. The crowd is almost completely gone- just a few stray women left with their drinks. The pounding pop music has been replaced with quiet, smooth jazz and the lights have all been flicked on.

"That was fucking _Trouty Mouth_ up there," Santana slurs, slumping over the now sticky table from the haphazardly spilled alcohol, "_Stripping_."

Mercedes, although tipsy, still has her wits about her as a flash of discomfort crosses her eyes, "C'mon, Santana, finish your drink so we can leave."

"And _Matt, _damn, we haven't seen him in forever! Wonder how they all ended up together. _Here," _Santana shakes her head, chortling.

"Speaking of," Rachel butts in, "Can you guys _believe_ that Mike was up there with them? He would've been the last person I'd _ever_-"

"-_Rachel_," Quinn interrupts with a nervous sideways glance toward Tina- who knows full well that Quinn's trying to be tactful for her sake- and sets her glass down, "We should really get going."

Tina is just about to protest- she isn't ready to leave just yet when she _knows_ Mike is backstage, winding down after his... _performance- _when someone beats her to the punch.

"Tina."

Mike Chang is the same- after years of being apart and broken up- he is definitely the same. Well, minus the whole... career change.

As Tina slowly raises her head to lock gazes with Mike, she feels like her entire past relationship with him is unraveling before her very eyes. They may have ended things on relatively civil terms once upon a time, but she knows- and Tina feels like _he _knows just as well- that there's too much history there to just briefly greet one another and go their separate ways- especially with the pure ridiculousness of Mike's new job.

"Mike," she says curtly, wishing she was significantly drunker so she wouldn't feel so nervous right now.

"Quinn. Santana. Britt. Mercedes. Rachel," Mike nods to each of them, greeting them like the polite gentleman he always is.

"Quite a performance up there, Mike," Quinn says with an arched eyebrow, looking as though she's having a lot of trouble not bursting out in laughter.

"You were fuckin' awesome," Santana grins, "Knew you had it in ya, Chang."

Mike grimaces a little in acknowledgment, "Nice to see you ladies. Hope- hope you enjoyed the show. Tina- d'you have a minute? To talk?"

Tina blinks, "I- sure. Sure."

"There's a 24-hour coffee shop two blocks over," Mike says quietly.

"Can we talk here? It's Rachel's bachelorette party- it's sorta an obligation."

"Go," Quinn prompts, pausing briefly to prevent Rachel from falling off her chair, "I think the night may actually already be over- Rachel looks like she's ready to pass out. 'Cedes and I will get everybody home."

Quinn, being Quinn, gives Tina a meaningful look before nudging Mercedes, "C'mon, Mercedes. Let's go."

Tina watches as her friends leave- Santana and Brittany both sling their arms over Quinn while Rachel clutches onto Mercedes- and looks back up at Mike.

"So," she says softly, "Good to see you again. Quite a lot of you, actually."

The way Mike blushes three shades darker than the firefighter getup he had been wearing for his performance almost makes up for the fact that Tina's still having a difficult time wrapping her head around the idea of Mike as a stripper. Almost.

* * *

"So. I would ask you what you've been up to but I feel like tonight sort of spoke for itself."

Mike winces as Tina takes a dignified sip from her black coffee. He has quite a lot to explain for himself.

Age has done Tina quite a lot of favors. Even though they're in their mid-twenties now and rapidly approaching true adulthood, Tina looks as fabulous as always. It's clear she dressed for a night out- her tight black dress hugs her curves in ways he hadn't even thought possible and her sky-high heels do an incredibly unfair job at showing off her legs. But despite showing all the signs of growing up well and acing puberty as though it were a college course, she still looks... well, like _Tina_.

"Good to see you too," he says with a forced smile, "I feel like I owe you an explanation?"

"You don't really owe me anything," she shrugs, "Although I really do have to comment on how small of a world we seem to live in. What are you doing in Boston? Besides stripping, of course."

Mike knows that Tina likes to cut to the chase, and even now after all these years, he appreciates it. Even though it's painful to have to explain why he dances up on a glamorized stage while taking off his clothes to supposedly sexy music.

"Can I start from the beginning?"

"Please do."

"I graduated Berkeley and got into Washington med school-"

"- What? Mike, that's great! Why-?"

"- Am I working this lovely night job? I deferred my acceptance and took a gap year. I needed to earn the money to _pay_ for med school. My parents went back to China. They've both retired. They had expected me to earn several scholarships to ease the financial stress but my grades just didn't cut it."

"It did enough to get you into med school."

Thank god for Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike couldn't help but muse. Even now, she knew how to make him feel better. Even now, she knew just what to say.

Mike shoots her a grateful look, "Thanks. I mean, the point is, I didn't have the money. After I graduated, Sam and Matt asked me to meet up with them here in Boston- just for the summer. They had just graduated as well and had started this- _gig_- to pay off their student loans. They told me it wasn't a big deal- that the money was good. It took a lot of convincing on their part but I figured I didn't know anyone in Boston, anyway. I had no idea you girls all lived here."

"We don't," Tina clarifies, "You know how tonight was Rachel's bachelorette party? She's getting married to Jesse St. James, remember him? _He _lives in Boston and she's going to move out here to join him. So we decided to have the party here. Rachel insisted on a strip club- I had no idea you three would be _working _here out of all places."

Mike smiles sadly, "It's totally demeaning, I know, and I still can't believe I agreed to do it."

"Seems like you're quite the popular act," Tina comments offhandedly, clearly fighting a smile, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I've always been a dancer," he reasons, flushing a little, "Just never thought I'd be _this _kind of dancer."

"Me neither, Mike. Me neither."

They're quiet for a while as they both sip from their coffees and Mike is finally getting past the horrendous embarrassment that came with seeing Tina after _years_ while on the job tonight when he realizes that he's really, _really_ missed her.

"Isn't it weird that we crossed paths again?" Mike asks abruptly.

"It is," she agrees, "Although I would have preferred it under different circumstances."

He makes a face.

"Kidding. I don't know how I felt about all those girls ogling you and paying you to strip, though."

"You sound like my girlfriend again," Mike jokes.

She stares at him for a long time- eight seconds, he counts- before pursing her lips with an exaggerated eye roll, "Oh _believe_ me, if we were still going out, you would _not_ be working at Ruby Rouge."

Mike chuckles, "I would never. I haven't forgotten what it was like having you as my girlfriend."

The dazzling smile she gives him makes him feel a little faint, "You didn't block that outta your head?"

"Please," he scoffs, then sobers a little, "Trust me when I say that I really missed you."

She presses her lips together, her eyes dancing with amusement, "I'll be in Boston for the rest of the week."

He grins so hard he feels like his face is going to split, "Is that an invitation to ask you to dinner tomorrow?"

They had promised each other after splitting up before college that if they should find each other again somewhere down the road, they would give it another shot. But with how distant they'd grown throughout college, Mike had slowly learned to give up the notion, believing it to be a lost cause. But now...

They've always read each other's minds. Always been on the same page. If it had been anyone else, Mike wouldn't have known whether or not she was suggesting something, but the look on her face is so telling, so familiar that he just... _knows_.

"Mike Chang," she says, pretending to look astonished, "Are you asking me out on a date?"

He beams, "Absolutely."

"I hope you know what this means," she says with an arched brow.

"I'm gonna be calling my boss and quitting my night job as soon as I get home."

Tina places one hand atop of his and the warm, familiar sensation that takes over his body at the very contact makes him feel at home again.

"You're too kind," she chuckles, "But hey- maybe you can pursue stripping on a more... _personal _level."

He leans in slowly, believing they're due for a kiss, when she places a finger across his lips.

"Ahh ahh ahh. You know I don't kiss so early on! We haven't even had our first date yet."

"Yet you request my stripping services so soon?"

Tina laughs her brilliant, tinkling laugh, "Oh c'mon, Mike. You think after tonight, I won't wanna see you tearing off your clothes to the beat of _Sexy Chick_ again?" She taps her chin thoughtfully, "We'll have to be sure to include the suspenders, too. And the body oil. _Definitely_ the body oil."


End file.
